8 Months... is all well???

This past Wednesday my baby turned 8 months old. I can hardly believe it!

Truly.

And this meant, as it always does, that it was time to bring out the scale. I pulled it out, stripped him down, and hoped and prayed that he'd gained some weight... that, at the very least, he'd remained within the same percentage on the growth chart this month.

I know that not every baby does... that the scale doesn't know everything.

Still I check.

I can't help it. I have to.

3 ounces.

In one month.

Three. Ounces.


While we were at My Beloved's office Wednesday afternoon, we poked our heads in to say "hi" to the doctor on staff and asked if he had a minute. Moments later I was sitting in one of the chairs telling the story. He asked a couple questions, measured him and sent me home to email all the numbers over when I had them.

Next evening, we had plans to have him and his wife over for dinner and games. They came, we ate, kids got put down... game time. Little Man was up and eating while we set up the game, but before we got started, he brought out our file. He'd done some looking around and number crunching and was worried about his weight gain... or lack of, I should say. He wondered about developmental milestones. Was Little Man meeting them according to schedule? If he was... he won't be so worried at all.

I worked through the list he gave me, marking it up. Trying to decided whether he does some of those things or not. Finally we tucked it away for "keeping an eye out for them" the next few days.

We still played the game, but I don't remember much else the rest of the night other than watching for those developmental milestones and looking (and re-looking) over that list, trying to remember what he does and doesn't do.

Suffice it to say I was worrying. And my heart was heavy. The weight mounted and really didn't go away the next day either. And I know... I just know that the enemy used this (as well as some other little things) to mount an attack on my heart.

And I let him. I didn't fight back. I sunk. Deeper and deeper. I won't use the term "depressed" because I believe it to be over used and abused in our society, but I was certainly downcast. Defeated. Lonely. Hopeless.

And my tools... thanksgiving, worship, praise, prayer, Scripture... they lay unused. It was a long couple days... a long weekend.

Praise God for being ever by my side, even when I pay no attention. Praise God for grace!


Where do I stand today? So much better. My spirit is up... clinging to grace. To God. My lack of motivation has been put aside... by grace.

Still I don't know the whole story on Little Man. It may be a little while before we do. Time to watch and see. We've stepped up solids and are paying more attention to those milestones (not that I wasn't before).

What a fun thing to see Little man pull up to standing for the first time yesterday... and then again today. He can't sit more than a minute or so (and can't get to a sitting position without us) before crashing backward uncontrollably, but he pulled himself up to standing... before crashing backward uncontrollably.

Perhaps I should be spotting him instead of taking pictures the next time. :)


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Labels: As it happens..., Depression, Little Moments, Raising Children

posted by ~Babychaser~ @ 2:42 PM